


Dean Winchester Is Worried

by HollyGoPossumlovesJ2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brief suicide ideation, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Helpful Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Porn With Plot, Slow Sex, Smut, caretaker!Dean, dedicated dean, depressed reader, description of anxiety, description of depression, dick for depression, edited 7/31/18, i wish this was a real life solution, sex can fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGoPossumlovesJ2/pseuds/HollyGoPossumlovesJ2
Summary: "Hey." Dean's voice was filled with more grit than it had been ten years ago. It was also a little gruff from disuse. The bunker tended to go quiet around this time, and you had no idea how many days it had been so far. Most of the time you hid in your room to avoid the deep concern etched into their faces."You hungry?" It pained you to hear the cautious hope in his voice, but his steady tone cleared a bit of the fog that thinking of your past always brought over you. You could focus a little easier with him in the room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was having a shitty, depressing day and tapped into all of those horrible thoughts that bounce around in my head from time to time. I wanted Dean to help me feel a little better. This was rather cathartic to write and I really hope you like it too. I also went through and revamped this story on 7/31/18. It was mostly corrections to make the writing flow more smoothly, but I think if you've already read this once it would be worth a second look!

You found yourself staring blankly at the plain, concrete wall in front of you, surrounded by darkness. There were no windows in the bunker, so you had a hard time placing what time it was or how long you'd been sitting here, petrifying in your own thoughts.

The familiar, uncomfortable rush of nerves itched beneath the surface of your skin as your hands smoothed over the tightness in your arms. Most days you could find a way to push forward, but then there were days like this one that had a way of bringing you back down to madness. You were filled with the buzzing energy to do something but you couldn't focus on just one thing. So it left you feeling lost and fidgety.

It had been a few years now, since the Winchester's had offered you shelter here as a legacy. Surprisingly enough, you'd found out that your Father's father had been a Man of Letters. Good ole grand papa that hadn't lived past his 40th birthday. You'd heard your entire life that the man was an alcoholic and crazy to boot, an absent father.

Now, however, you knew exactly why his life had turned out the way it had. That information had made you a little angry with your deceased parents for being so judgmental. You could've learned so much from him, but he was ostracized by his own family and likely died alone and bloody. You could only imagine the pain he suffered.

The hunting monsters schtick had skipped right over your parent's generation, plowing through your perfect life like a freight train. You'd grown up a little privileged and spoiled with an intrinsic drive to never fail. It was just a part of who you had been raised to be. So you could admit now that you were an overachiever and quite the nerd. Your promising future was planned down to the letter and you thought nothing could stop you.

Now, you could finally admit to yourself of the moment your problems really started and it wasn't when most people probably assumed. Your life had been perfect until the year after you'd graduated high school. It had been a transitional year, but you were on the fast track to becoming a veterinarian. You’d spent the summer at home, packing up your room, and dying to go to college already!

The Fall semester was spent making friends and learning your way around the massive but beautiful campus grounds. It meant you were separated from your tightly knit family but you were also at the college of your childhood dreams, studying veterinary sciences. No, going out of state to UCLA was not where your problems began. Unfortunately, it was during that same year of school that your parents were brutally murdered in your childhood home surrounded by suburbia. Authorities told you it had been a rogue bear attack.

Your little family had been close, and the remaining relationship with your twin brother was what had carried you through that time. Your brother was your safety and home and you knew as long as you guys had each other that you could survive.

You'd tried to go back to school and fight your way forward. Remy, your brother, even moved out to Cali with you just to be close by, but your life had been irrevocably changed. What you had seen of your parent's murder had completely derailed all thought of future.

\------------------

You'd begged and pleaded with the coroner to see them just one more time, and your wish had been begrudgingly granted. That's where you'd met two mysteriously scruffy men from the "FBI" who were at the morgue investigating your parent's death. You'd known immediately that the gashes and tears in their flesh weren't the product of a bear attack. They were also, strangely, missing their hearts.

You remembered the hollow rush that had settled in your bones the minute you'd taken a look under the first white sheet.

 _"Are you related to the deceased, mam?" The younger of the two had asked after he'd found you leaning against the building outside, an endearing smile stretching his lips. You were falling apart, tears and snot prevalent on your face as you nodded. Your breath kept catching in your throat._ _There had been very little of your parents left and the images were going to haunt you for the rest of your life._

_His green eyes seemed to ooze empathy when he offered you a rather beaten up tissue that looked like it had spent a life time in someone’s pocket and you found yourself telling this... Well, he couldn't have been more than 22 or 23, not much older than you, and probably way too young to be in the actual FBI. However, despite the age thing, you told him everything you knew because there was this ease with which he presented himself that made you trust him._

_"That's not from a bear." You whispered through your clogged throat, practically floating in a trance. The vision of your parent's corpses danced behind your eyes every time you closed them. "It can't have been a bear." You felt like you were losing your mind as you covered your face with both hands and slid to the ground. You'd never been apt to public drama or making a scene, but you couldn't help it. Your knees just refused to hold you up anymore._

_One thing you did know for sure was that you knew animals and you were knowledgeable in bear behavior. Bears just open the front door, climb the stairs and take your parent’s heart straight from their chests. Bears didn't shred an entire body for fun, either._

_"You're right, you know,” was his calm reply after a moment of mentally arguing with himself on whether or not he would actually tell her the truth. The hand that he gently rested on your shoulder was a small comfort as he crouched down to your level. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but I think you deserve the truth."_

_When you finally uncovered your face enough to look back, you realized that his eyes were now filled with a deeper understanding of your grief than you ever could have imagined. "What's the truth?" You whispered, suddenly terrified yet desperate to understand what had happened._

_The man in front of you sighed heavily, dragging his free hand over his face with the reticence of a man burdened with too much wisdom. That's when he'd divulged the ugly truth about what was out there. Monsters and horrors beyond imagination that would haunt you for years before you finally believed._

_The older agent had met the two of you outside and he'd insisted that they escort you home to be sure that you were safe. They were headed that way anyhow, to investigate the crime scene. The crime scene that was also known as your childhood home. You don’t even remember how you cleaned up all the blood._

_The father/son duo you would come to know as the Winchester's had unknowingly inspired you to take up the mantle of hunting. However, at the time, you'd felt like you had some unfinished business at UCLA._

You'd made it through three and a half years of college before you actually gave up and went searching for the things that lurked in the night. You were unable to ignore the strange headlines that showed up in the newspaper and online, anymore. Your brother had tagged along of course, always protective because he was 5 minutes older.

You'd made it your personal goal to do everything you could to prevent what had happened to you from happening to other people. And, after a few rough starts, you finally started to have some success.

You used what you had learned in your few years of pre veterinary medicine to patch you and your brother up when necessary, grateful for some practical application of the information clogging up your brain. So, thankfully, school hadn't been a complete waste on you. However, other than medical skills, you were a complete novice at this hunting thing and it showed.

It wasn't long before the Winchester brothers caught up with you. They had undoubtedly heard tales of a rookie team out for blood that had no doubt been gossiped about through the hunter grape vine. When Dean heard your story and recognized you both he and Sam told you they would've shown up sooner, if it hadn't been for that pesky apocalypse and all.

Firmly back in the present again, you heard Dean enter the room quietly before he spoke a word. Only the soles of his booted feet against the hard surface of the floor alerted you to his presence.

The boys tended to treat you with kid gloves when you got like this, dancing around you like you might shatter, and you were never really sure if you fully appreciated it the way you probably should. Suddenly, a few weeks would be cleared of hunting jobs and they would drag you out to watch movies on the couch. Conspicuously, Garth would up and start hoarding cases or at least that’s what Dean lead you to believe. You knew Sam would tell you the truth but you just couldn’t muster enough fucks to give, so you went along with Dean’s schemes.

They'd tried taking you out on a hunt early on to keep your mind occupied once before, but that had turned out horrendously, and you couldn’t blame them for not wanting to hunt with you then. As it turned out, you have even less self-preservation instincts when you were depressed and missing your brother.

Sometimes, a morbid thought would enter your head, completely uninvited, and you would feel like maybe you should just go ahead and join your brother in the afterlife. It was usually only a fleeting moment, but it was long enough to get you into trouble on a hunt. Plus, suffice it to say, you knew if you were ever to go down that route, Remy would meet you wherever you ended up just so he could kick your ass.

"Hey." Dean's voice was filled with more grit than it had been so many years ago. It was also a little gruff from disuse. The bunker tended to go quiet around this time, and you had no idea how many days it had been so far, but most of the time you hid in your room to avoid the deep concern etched into their faces. "You hungry?"

No matter how far down you got, it pained you to hear the cautious hope in his voice, but it always surprised you that his steady tone cleared a bit of the fog that thinking of your past always brought over you. You could focus a little easier with him just being present in the room.

You weren't sure if he actually knew that he quieted the voice in your head telling you what a complete fuck up you were. Perhaps you would tell him sometime, how just a simple touch from him was enough to make your heart race and your problems dim to background noise?

Maybe someday in the far far distant future.

He offered you a plate that was loaded with pieces of cut up fruit and some cheese. The snacks warmed your brittle and bruised heart to imagine Dean in the kitchen, with his freshly sharpened knives, cutting diligently into several types of fruit instead of monsters. The caretaker mentality was set loose, and knew no boundaries while Dean was in the safety of the bunker.

You and Sam had even pitched in together to get him an apron that said: 'I drink and I know things,' a la Tyrian Lannister. Mainly, because Dean loved Game of Thrones and he liked to sip scotch on the rocks while he cooked. The man wore it every time he made something that took longer than 10 minutes to put together. It's adorable, actually.

He'd made an obvious effort to encourage you to eat, making a face with the blueberries and pineapple on your plate. It made you feel like some royal that was locked away from the world. The princess in the tower. It was unconventional, but Dean knew what you were like on days like this, and he knew he'd have a better chance of you eating something that you could snack on rather than a full meal. Dean was observant and thoughtful like that.

He liked to pretend that he was just a selfish jerk, but he could remember the brand of your favorite shampoo, without a reminder from you, while out on a supply run. Not that Dean would ever admit to it, but no matter how tight funds could be, he always made sure you had your favorite bubble bath tucked away in your own space in the cabinet in the shower room. Dean had even gone as far as assigning a space to each of us. He’d even added a label with our names on it to make doubly sure we understood. You figured that it also helped that Dean just liked playing with the label maker.

You suspected he also snuck in a bubble bath from time to time, when no one was around to catch him. You also knew that Dean liked the little reminders that the bunker was lived in and domestic. He wanted the signs and proof that his family was close by, living right here with him. You often thought that this was how Dean kept himself from falling apart. You could relate, even after being in the same place for the first part of your life, to Dean's need to call something 'permanent' and 'his' and 'home' was something that normally helped you too.

You accepted the plate from him with a soul sucking attempt at a smile, and you only held it long enough to rest the plate on your nightstand where it would stay untouched for a couple of hours. Even as you turned away from him, you could feel the smile cracking like porcelain heated in the microwave too many times. You imagined the jagged lines and tiny chips at the edges of your lips crumbling away.

On days like this, almost a week would go by without a single bite of food. You were never hungry when you felt this way, which was the polar opposite of your normal behavior. You never passed up bar food and could out eat Dean in junk food without even trying. That was definitely not the case today. In fact, you were mostly nauseated at the very thought of food and you swallowed compulsively a couple of times because of the bile threatening to rise in your throat.

You'd thought about the reasoning behind your lack of appetite a couple of times in the past. As twisted as it might seem, you thought of it as a kind of penance for living without your brother. You would never lack the ability to passively punish yourself in some way.

Because of your erratic eating habits, you'd lost quite a bit of weight. It was easy to hide beneath layers of flannel, but you knew that the boys could tell. You were down a couple of pant sizes just in the past few months and it wasn't because of healthy eating and exercise.

You turned down every request Sam made to get you running with him in the morning. For one thing, you didn't like to run unless you absolutely had to. Two, you couldn't muster up enough motivation to try.

You knew that Dean had felt every detail of your suffering and pain himself, inside and out. He had lost his brother over and over to so many crazy situations, and he'd gone through great, sometimes irrational, lengths to keep him here.

In fact, you knew last year he'd overdosed on purpose to communicate with a reaper. Unfortunately, you had to admit that you would've made the same drastic choice if that option had been on the table. You would've traded places with your brother in a heartbeat, instead of having to go on living without him. But Remy, after learning the truth about sacrifices made just to keep a person with you, made you promise to do no such thing.

So when a poltergeist violently ran Remy right through the lung with a large Cuisinart kitchen knife, you knew that this was the end of the road for him. You'd held him close and sobbed as he bled out in your arms, his voice clicking in his throat. It was only a minute's time but it felt like it lasted forever. You'd held him until he started to turn cold and your world dimmed to shades of blue.

It had been Dean, after he'd managed to send the poltergeist packing with the help from Sam, who had told you it was time to let him go. Remy had been long gone, but letting him go was the hardest thing you'd ever done. You hated yourself a little every day you spent without him, but you would always respect his wishes.

You didn’t have any tears left, just an aching numbness, as you'd finally salted and burned his body a couple of days later. Sam and Dean didn't leave your side for many days after, watching your every move. You watched them fumble all over themselves while they tried to fill Remy's place.

They tried so hard to let you know that you would never be alone.

However, you always knew it would come on days like today without a damn thing you could do to stop it. The fog that laid over you and zapped all the light and energy out of your universe would come without fail. Even a couple of years later, the days leading up to and after his death, were the worst days of your ongoing struggle with depression. Every day was a fight, the question of how hard you had to fight was the only variable.

"What can I do,” Dean asked quietly, his tone making it obvious he was worried. This was always his approach, his words smooth, like a well-rehearsed script. He always asked and you always answered back with the same thing.

"Nothing."

He sighed, and you could see the weight settle on him as he tried to shoulder your pain along with his own. You knew this burdened him, but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't make it stop.

"It's, uh... two years today,” he asked softly, trying to start up a conversation to gage just how bad you were doing as he sat on the side of your bed. Even the motion of reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder was done with great care, like you were made of glass. He was terrified to move you, afraid that you might shatter like you had in the past. If you were 100% right now, it would irk you to be treated like a helpless, delicate flower. You wouldn’t be afraid to tell him that you weren't a child and that you didn't need a babysitter. But right now, you couldn't summon the effort. So, you just nodded silently.

No matter how hard you tried, even feeling that maybe you could bleed the dark feelings infused into your bones out through tears, you couldn't make yourself cry. It was like you were incapable of feeling anything but negative desolation. It left you feeling trapped and useless.

You could feel the frustration of being helpless searing your insides right along with that itch of anxiety that wouldn't let you rest. It created a yearning for _something_ that flickered just beneath the surface of your skin, as delicate as a bumble bee’s wings and just as persistent.

When Dean's hand shifted, the buzz became an unexpected spark as his finger lightly grazed your collar bone. Involuntarily, you shivered, finally looking away from the wall to meet his gaze.

You felt your lips part in surprise as you met his verdant eyes flickering with so much emotion staring right at you.

You'd never pursued your feelings for the man in front of you. Fear of rejection and awkwardness kept you from reaching out when his eyes connected with yours. Not to mention the self-deprecation always making a negative, constant static noise in your head. It told you how you would never be good enough. That, you would never be in the realm of what Dean Winchester thought was attractive, much less sexy. Who would want you?

It was distant memory, but maybe you had seen how his eyes had dilated with want when he caught you in the hallway, wrapped in a towel on your way from a shower, and equated it with passing lust. Or even just a trick of the eye because of the fluorescent lights in the hall way.

Now that you thought of it, you might have seen the softness in them when he tried to impart some sort of wisdom or comfort to soothe your pain that was usually communicated through an awkward pat on the back. Those were all excusable, but the way he would thoroughly check you over for injuries any time you got remotely near any trouble should've been your first clue.

But right now, it didn't matter how awkward, or what the consequences would be the next day if you finally acted on what you wanted. You were desperate for a break from the noise of failure in your ears. You needed an escape. You wanted his touch on your bare skin to soothe it and make you forget for just a little while. Even if it was just lust exchanged between two friends.

You watched him study your face carefully as you willed him to touch you again. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet, hoarse like he'd gargled with glass, as he slowly slid his wide palm along the vulnerable skin of your neck to rest against your cheek. Absentmindedly, he thumbed at the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear in a soothing caress.

But, it stoked a different type of buzz, and the anxious feeling was becoming a little less obvious the longer he touched your skin. The sweet softness of his touch the only thing capable fighting off the negativity that held you prisoner. Your eyes fluttered closed as you turned to softly brush his warm palm with ardent kisses.

You whispered ‘please’ as you breathed in deep the smell of gun oil and car grease, hope a strange feeling fluttering in your chest. God, that scent was home, safety, and every good memory that you held onto.

His lingering kiss pressed to your cheek was a surprise, but was done with such tenderness that you could feel the moisture starting to gather in your eyes. The spreading warmth that had started as a tiny spark in your chest was making your heart beat double time. You felt the close proximity of his body, the heat of his skin almost burning you where he touched, the anticipation feeding your new excitement.

You turned your head slowly, lightly grazing your lips against his in a brief touch. The soft push of his lips created a rush of pure pleasure capable of cleansing your entire being when he gasped. Suddenly, Dean's touch was going straight to your head. He was a drug and you needed so much more when he dropped his forehead against yours.

"Why now?" His question was barely a breath against the sensitive skin of your face, but it held so much raw need. "I've wanted you... for years and every time you've..." He tipped his head so he could look in your eyes, his face so close that you had to fight from going cross eyed and maintaining your focus on his every word.

You were surprised to find that Dean looked absolutely wrecked, moisture shimmering in his green eyes. His hand urged you closer and he wrapped his arm around your back, silently giving you strength.

"I was afraid." You confessed, knowing that Dean was your touch stone and if you lost him too, you were fucked. In your old life you never would've made such a hasty decision. But, this mood made you reckless, and you didn't care about the consequences.

He nodded, his nose gently skimming your cheek and you were overcome with fondness. You felt a deep, burning affection for this solid, beautiful hunter that you knew would slay the world for you. The solidity of your feelings caused your breath to hitch in your chest as you closed your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

His nose continued to slowly skim the contours of your face with the softest touch along the apple of your cheeks. He followed a lazy, unmarked path across your forehead.

He lightly touched over your eye brows and closed eyes lids, carefully ruffling your eye lashes. Reverently, his lips kissed down the trail of your tear, tasting the salt with the barest touch of his tongue.

The devotion he was showing you through the soft touch of his lips cracked something inside you, the emotions you'd been dying to feel, rushing to the surface. After dealing with the rollercoaster of emotions that depression could bring your way, the manic episodes all the way down to the absolute desolation, it felt good to be cracked wide open.

"You make me feel." You confessed on a whisper of breath, his eye lashes feathering lightly against your skin. His breath was warm as it brushed an alluring rhythm across your mouth, his supple lips centimeters away. "Please?"

"Look at me." His voice was thick with deep emotion but it didn’t waver as he leaned back so that you could see him. Your gaze settled on his with matched intensity so that when he asked, "This is what you want?" He was able to see your sincerity when you told him 'yes'.

You saw him allow the desire rush through his entire body, lighting up his face with a flush of blood and a stutter to his breath before his mouth met yours. The kiss was wet and desperate with lots of teeth and tongue.

You felt his need as his full lips kissed you on a wavering exhale, his entire body vibrating as he cradled your face in both of his hands. The kiss consumed you, propelling you forward with intensity.

It wasn’t long before both of you began shedding clothes, only relinquishing contact when it was completely necessary. Miraculously, you avoided knocking heads with elbows or legs. Although, you doubted that a black eye would even be able to stop you now.

Soon you were bare, facing each other and laying side by side. Your skin was flush against his as you relished how his hands fervently roamed every available inch. You felt like you were being worshiped.

A rapacious moan escaped Dean's throat to vibrate against your wet lips when you draped a leg over his hip, offering yourself up to him. He was eager, his hand sliding down your back to firmly palm your ass before possessively feeling his way down your thigh to squeeze and follow the same trail back. His hands were calloused and avaricious, creating a prefect drag against your smooth skin.

Touching him like this felt like coming home, like you could do just this for the rest of your life. You were soaking wet for him, desire to feel him inside your swollen center burning you up inside.

His freckled skin was warm and littered with several scars where your covetous hands mapped his sweat sheened body. You felt the strong muscles of his back in dips and valleys, the slight bump of his vertebrae against your fingers. You marveled as you felt them contract and relax when he undulated his perfect body against yours.

You were immediately fond of the perfect dip of his spine that lead into the sinuous muscles of his ass as he thrust against you. You couldn't help but squeeze the solid, contracting muscle in your grip, shocking another moan from deep in Dean's chest.

He was pressing hot steel wrapped in silk shamlessly against you, leaving a wet trail in the bend of your thigh. When he finally relinquished your mouth you sucked in much needed oxygen as he began to place ardent kisses along your jaw and down the length of your neck. To you it seemed that Dean’s need to taste your skin was more than he needed oxygen and he panted against your skin as he went.

His warm, calloused palm then smoothed down the flat of your stomach until two fingers teased the lips of your center. When he realized just how wet and swollen you were for him, you both moaned. As he teased you he sucked a patch of skin on your neck, grazing it with his teeth and no doubt leaving a mark. When you pushed his fingers further into your soaking core, he bit down on the spot with a groan.

The pain mixed with pleasure was perfect, the feeling of complete escape from your traitorous mind just within reach. Every muscle was tensed and every nerve awake in your body, dying for his attention.

Warmth spread to your throat and face in a blush as his finger sank into you. It wasn't enough to fill you but you would take this sensation over none at all. You would take whatever he was willing to give you.

When you tucked your face into his neck, you found that it made it a little hard to breathe, but you couldn't bring yourself move. You felt the need to cling to him as the heel of his palm dragged deliciously against your clit as he thrust two wide fingers inside. You wanted the musk of his skin and the lingering scent of his body wash in your nose while the pleasure began to build.

You reveled in the loss of control, trusting Dean implicitly, as your orgasm began to build as an ache in your belly to a full out liquid heat all over. You felt sparkles of pleasure in your chest that made you smile with the rush of happiness it brought you in stark contrast to the way every muscle in your lower stomach was beginning to clamp down.

"Dean!" Your shout muffled against his neck as you tensed against him, his touch no longer grounding you but propelling you forward. "I'm gonna..." Your voice was just a desperate exhale against the salty tang of his neck before you mounded his skin with your teeth and began to suck a deep mark there.

"That's good, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me. Just let go. Fuck-" His voice was an octave lower than normal, the gravel scratch in his voice against your ear finally sending you crashing over the edge. "Yeah, that's it princess. God, that's it, sweetheart. Give it to me. Give me all you’ve got. I got you."

He didn't stop working you through it until you begged as he held you close and you writhed and moaned through the best orgasm you'd had in a long time. You felt completely blissed out as you kissed your 'I love yous’ and 'thank yous' and 'don't stops' into his bruised neck. A feeling of possessiveness coming over you.

You felt the hot, swollen head of his cock as he teased at your entrance. The floating relief of your orgasm giving way to an even deeper need to be filled. In the deep recesses of your mind you could admit that you wanted Dean to claim you and make you his. You wanted him to mark up your neck and for you to make a bigger mark on him. Just so the next time you went out the women that had a homing device for fucking gorgeous men would back the fuck off.

You traced a lazy path slowly down his back, your nails tickling and teasing against his overheated slick skin. As you reached the small of his back, a violent shiver to shake his entire body, causing him to bite his bottom lip in anticipation.

As your hands spread across the plump round of his ass, his head tipped back slightly. A gasp and sigh of pleasure leaving his kiss swollen mouth before he pinned you down with his expression.

"You want this?" He was so clearly wound up, panting as he asked, desperate to be inside you, but unwilling to do anything against your will. His other worldly green eyes shimmered with need and something else you couldn’t quite identify, begging for your compliance.

You wasted no time in giving him your implicit consent by squeezing his ass hard in your hand, resulting in pushing just the tip of his cock inside. "Please?" You pressed the plea into his lips, your free hand threading through his hair to keep him close. You dragged your tongue teasingly across the seam of his lips and he granted you entrance with an anguished moan.

Despite his impetuosity, he was careful and controlled as he slowly sank into you in one long thrust. Later, you’ll think about this moment and how no one in your entire life has ever shown you so much care. You’ll feel the freely given affection as he takes the time to lay kisses all over your face as if in apology for any pain his considerable size may have caused you.

He’s a shield against the negative that was slowly eating away at you. This beautiful man centered you and all you could feel was him and what he did to you. He was everywhere. You were surrounded by the feel of his body and the scent of his skin. There wasn't room for anything else and for a moment you forgot what today was and how you felt about it.

For a moment you clung desperately to each other, your tongue lazily exploring his mouth as you felt him stretching you and molding a spot just for him. It was a strange combination as the stretch burned but the throb of his obvious want gave you goosebumps. Never had you taken the time to really pay attention to the way the first thrust feels as your core clutches him inside.

You urge him to move by draping your leg up higher, feeling him sink in just that much deeper. Needing him to move and feeling your toes curl when he finally concedes. When he finally begins to move, it’s a slow and deep rhythm that a metronome would be proud of. To you, it felt like he was taking the time to savor every move and every reaction showing openly on your face.

His grip was tight on your as he pressed into the skin of your back and hip. Like Dean was holding on for dear life as he whimpered hurt, aching noises that were exhaled into your mouth with his every move.

For a long time, you stared right back into the depths of his hypnotic eyes, watching the emotions that he tried to keep bottled up and hidden behind his carefully built walls. You could plainly see the desperation and want in his expressions and his actions, but there was something there that you hadn’t seen before.

How long had he felt this way and been unknowingly denied? Or, maybe more aptly, how long had you been denying yourself?

"Dean?" He never stopped the steady pumps of his hips, but he gave you his full attention. He was looking a little dazed, like his brain might be feeling fuzzy as his breath came in irregular pants of desperate air.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He slid a hand up from your back to cradle your cheek in his palm, blinking his eyes a few times as if he could overcome the mush his brain had become.

"I'm so sorry... I didn't know. Not really..." You sighed with satisfaction as you began to rock into his thrusts even as you still felt contrite somewhere in the miasma of emotion this man was making you feel. "I thought…"

"You thought you were just like… everyone else." He didn’t even assert his words as a question, but as a known fact instead and you could see the flash of hurt at the revelation before he could blink it away. It was exactly like he knew that you would think that you would sleep together and he would forget you when it was all over. Just like all those other women he'd slept with and left behind. His eyes were vivid and clear when he answered, "You’re nothing like them and there’s no one that can hold a candle to you."

You'd never heard so much conviction in his voice and it filled you with the sudden need for more. At this point it was just more anything, as long as it involved Dean. You carefully pulled him out before you rolled onto your back, coaxing him to follow.

He easily blanketed your body with his, wasting no time in following you and thrusting back home. "You drive me crazy, did you know that?" You felt him dig his knees into the mattress, putting more force behind the steady thrust of his hips. It was almost like you could feel him in your throat. You were completely stuffed with him and you couldn't imagine a better thing than being taken by this man as he claimed new territory inside you.

He surrounded you, protecting you from the outside world with his hands on either side of your head as he nuzzled your breasts. You reached a hand behind you to brace yourself against the headboard, putting your breasts at his mercy. They were already tight peaks before he teased them with his teeth and tongue until they were throbbing in time with your enthusiastic heart.

He groaned with satisfaction on a particularly deep thrust and he pulled as much of your breast as he could into his mouth and suckled. The satisfied noises he made in the back of his throat caused everything to flutter and throb with pleasure. You could probably come from just his mouth and tongue teasing you. However, with him thrusting into you and nailing your g spot with the roll of his hips like his life depended on it, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

He gave both of your breasts ample attention, leaving them wet, raw red and exposed to the air. You weren’t prepared for what he had been thinking about when he suddenly buried his face in the juncture where your shoulder met your neck.

"I. I can't. You." His voice was muffled as he huffed raggedly against your skin, his body beginning to thrust a little harder with the desperation he felt. "I can't. You can't leave."

The pleading sound of his voice sliced soul deep, a vicious pain lancing through your chest just at the thought of leaving him. You gripped him tightly as he wrapped his arms around you, one of your hands sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I promise,” you responded with a pained whisper brushed against his ear. "I won't leave on purpose." It killed you to make that promise, removing your one last option to see Remy sooner rather than later. You felt every word drag against your chest as if it didn't want to be released into the world. God, it hurt.

He shivered, practically vibrating and wound so tight with his impending orgasm but unwilling to end this just yet. His thrusts finally gaining some speed as he pushed up to lean on his elbows again and watch your face. He kept his thrusts short and fast, burying himself deep inside you, but unwilling to move too far out of your body. The wet noises of him slamming into you were obscene but the feeling of his entire body shifting and grinding against yours caused your pleasure to swell just that much further.

"You're beautiful," he confessed brokenly and you were delighted to see that his expression was wide open again. Your promise quelling his fears for the moment as he confessed what he was feeling. "Always. You just have to open your damn eyes and I can't... I can't look away from you." His eyebrows bunched together as he bit his lip, his eyes wide open and wet. Your name a gasp when you clenched tightly around his cock.

"Oh, fuck. Dean." It hit you like a punch to the chest when you realized that Dean loved you, more than you'd ever allowed yourself to recognize. That this was what had been hiding in his expressions that you just wouldn’t let yourself see. "H-harder." You gasped, gripping him so tightly that you distantly worried that you might draw blood, but it was a fleeting thought.

You were completely flayed open when he whimpered against your mouth and complied with your request. You were undeniably fixated by the tender, open look still there on his beautifully freckled face. You couldn’t help but to be overcome with the love you'd never allowed yourself to really feel before.

You could feel his heart beating fast where his chest was pressed against yours. Dean was unable to kiss properly anymore because his breathing was an open mouth pant as he pulled back watched you fall apart.

You finally felt like you could free fall over the jagged edge of the zenithal mountain that you’d been climbing, the buildup making you lightheaded as pleasure began to pulse little shocks through every vein. Then, as you had one leg hanging over the precipice, you looked into Dean’s familiar eyes and the unabashed love you saw there was still an electric current straight to your heart.

"Dean, oh fuck. Dean." You cursed with the startling realization that you loved him, too. That you'd just buried down deep with the other profound emotions that you hadn’t wanted to feel. Life was a double edged sword. On one side you could feel happiness and the deepest love but on the flip side there was sadness and hollowing loss. You couldn’t focus on that thought any further when he pulled you close with both arms tight around you as you shattered, shaking against him as he fucked you through until there was nothing left to drag out of you but satisfied sighs.

You didn't know how long you floated, but you came around to feel Dean's pounding rhythm faltering. You ran your fingers through his mussed up hair before you cupped his face in your hands. He looked like he would crack at any moment, his eyes locked on yours, and he was trying desperately not to come. "I need- I'm gonna-" He bit his lip against a rush of pleasure when you squeezed your walls against him. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna-"

“Come for me, Dean,” you said barely above a whisper and his orgasm slammed into him like oncoming traffic. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open with his air trapped in his lungs. His eye brows bunched like he was in pain before a gasping moan shook out from deep in his chest.

When his arms became weak and he collapsed onto you, his hips continued to thrust lazily as he spent his last pulses inside.

You could still feel the lingering warmth of his come inside you when he found your lips again and kissed you breathless. He cradled your face with both hands, his expression so silently possessive that it caused you to clenched down into another small orgasm. The pressure around his cock caused him to moan, vibrating against your mouth.

By the time you were completely spent you were both a sweaty, shivering mess. Neither one of you were ready to move away or start to clean up when your breathing normalized. It was an unspoken agreement that you guys were just going to lay there for however long it took for your brains to come back online. Currently, they were blissfully fuzzy as the effects of the endorphins and chemicals laid waste to any thought of motivation.

When Dean relaxed, he shifted down so that he could lay against your heartbeat. You both made a sound of remorse when the movement made him slip free. As you waited for either sleep or the endless pit of ‘what ifs’ to take you, your hands traded trailing fingers slowly up and down his back and running them through his short, sweaty hair as he took deep breaths. The way he was breathing made you think he was trying to memorize your scent, before they became rhythmic and you knew he had fallen asleep.

When you woke up and indeterminable amount of time later, it was to the gentle touch of his finger tracing over your features. You couldn't help the smile that it automatically brought to your face. There was a look of pure contentedness that you weren’t sure you had seen outside of the time that he spent in the garage working on his Baby. And didn’t that thought make you smile just a little bit wider?

"Better?" He asked, the timber of his voice still fucked out and well deep.

You did a quick mental inventory at his question even though you knew he wasn’t just talking about what had just happened between you. However, physically, you knew there would be little bruises scattered over your neck, collar bone and chest. There was also a possibility, if the burning in your thighs and ass were any indication, that you would be walking a little funny later. For now, it seemed as if it temporarily out shined the pain that had been living in your chest for days, leaving you with an exhausted feeling of contentment.

You beamed up at him as you completed your assessment, hoping that he could see exactly how you felt written on your face. "Much better."

“Awesome,” he grinned, kissing your nose before he rolled onto his back. He beckoned you with a grunt and his arms outstretched. How could you resist an offer like that?

Clinging tightly to the momentary peace you had found, you snuggled up to his chest, practically laying on him with half your body weight and holding him back just as tight. He didn't seem to mind as he pulled you closer and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

Logically, you knew that this wouldn't be the miracle cure for your problems nor would it bring your brother or your parents back. But Dean’s outpouring of love and affection had been strong enough to clear the suffocating fog when you needed him to. He’d made the struggle to live from day to day a little more worth pushing through the pain as best as you could. Maybe you could survive in this world after all.


End file.
